Tick Tock
by njbrennan
Summary: Modern A/U: If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know? In this universe, all humans have a clock above their hearts that counts down the last day until soul mates meet. It all seems to work well and smoothly, but for Edith Crawley and Anthony Strallan, there are unforeseen complications. All characters belong to Fellowes. Complete!


A/N: Hello! I saw a prompt on Tumblr a while back that asked, "If a clock could count down to the moment you meet your soul mate, would you want to know?" So, running with this idea, I came up with this story! It's very much an alternate universe where people are born with clocks above their hearts that will count down the last twenty-four hours before they meet their soul mate.

I hope you all enjoy it! I'd love to hear from you about this one :D

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><p>When he was a young boy, after his parents told him the story of the clocks above their hearts, Anthony Strallan would wake up each morning and peel away his nightshirt, hoping and praying that the countdown had started. And each day when it didn't, he grew a little more fearful that it never would, until eventually, he stopped looking at all.<p>

These clocks, you see, were no ordinary clocks. Instead of marking time as other clocks did, the hands moving around and around ad nauseam, the clocks above each human's heart would, for the last day before soul mates met, count down those last remaining twenty-four hours. They would tick for only a day and upon their expiration, it was said that two people would meet and…they would just know.

The system, however, was far from perfect. Sometimes, a clock would start and expire, but only for one person. Unrequited love. And for others, the clock would take years to begin its countdown, those years of waiting and hoping alone proving difficult for many, and instead, many found companionship with others who just didn't quite fit.

Such was Anthony Strallan's story. The fairytale story of his youth had faded when, well into his thirties, his clock had yet to tick. Perhaps it never would, he began to believe. He had heard of people who had gone their whole lives without their clocks ever counting down. They lived without love and perhaps he would, too. So, Anthony abandoned this romantic dream of soul mates as a childish one and instead married his old college sweetheart, Maud.

Perhaps something was better than nothing.

Maud and Anthony were content. Their marriage was mostly pleasant. But it lacked anything that resembled what his parents had: the passion, the complete and total self-giving, the need to be around each other at all hours. They lived a quiet life, where Anthony taught literature at Cambridge and Maud practiced medicine. They ate dinner each night and went for walks in the morning and sometimes caught whatever played at the local cinema.

Life was uncomplicated for the Strallans, but it lacked _something_ and both of them knew it.

And then, one day, Maud woke up and had eighteen hours left on the clock above her heart. It must have started during her sleep. Though she tried to hide it from her husband, Anthony was quick to see it and instantly, they understood why this marriage of theirs had been so flat.

"Perhaps I could…just stay home today. If we never meet, it'll never be a problem," Maud proposed to her husband. They were still in bed, still in their nightclothes, with unkempt hair and tangled sheets. "Things can go on as they have; nothing has to change."

But Anthony had heard the stories, though he tried not to believe them anymore. No matter how hard some tried to avoid meeting their soul mate, out of fear of the unknown or fear of disrupting their quiet lives, when the clock expired, the two would meet anyway. It was what the countdown was all about: when lovers would meet. Fate would find a way. Nothing could be done to avoid it, not even if you tried.

He gently tucked a wild strand of brown hair behind her ear. "Maud, it's okay. I think we both knew this day might come, and if he could make you happier, complete you more fully than I ever could, then I want that for you. I want you to be happy."

She smiled at him in an appreciative manner; he was setting her free. "Thank you, darling. Perhaps your clock will tick one day, too…"

Anthony nodded, though he didn't know why. "Yes, perhaps it will."

Eighteen hours later, during a particularly busy night shift at the hospital, Maud met her soul mate: a patient who came into the A & E with a broken leg. Not even a full day after her divorce to Anthony was finalized, he and Maud married and never looked back.

* * *

><p>The years after his divorce seemed to come and pass in a blur, and all the while, Anthony's clock didn't budge. Its hands stood still, unwavering at the top of the hour, the stationary hands almost taunting him each time he caught a glimpse of the clock in the mirror. As if he had to be reminded that the most wonderful thing life could offer had alluded him for all of his forty-five years of life.<p>

But instead of wallowing in self-pity, Anthony threw himself into his work, devoting himself ever more fervently to his teaching, to his students and his scholarly writing. He was a beloved professor, a trusted friend, and a respectable colleague, but he belonged to no one. Although his life was just as quiet as it was when he was married to Maud, perhaps more so, he trudged on. What else was he to do?

And then one day, on an ordinary December morning like so many others he had lived through, Anthony noticed something moving on his chest that never had before.

He stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and proceeded to wipe down the steamy mirror in order to shave. Out of the corner of his eye, just as he held the razor to his jaw, Anthony noticed that the clock above his heart ticking away with a steady, constant beat.

Shocked, he dropped the razor in the sink, causing it to clink and bounce around. He had waited his whole life for this moment, ever since his parents told him of it when he was a boy. And here it was. Only a mere six hours remained; it must have started around lunchtime yesterday and its movement went unnoticed when Anthony changed into his pajamas the night before.

His fingers were trembling as they wrapped around the edge of the sink for support. Today was the day. He would meet her today, in a measly six hours. Forty-five years of waiting to end before lunch. It was unfathomable.

"Pull yourself together, man!" Anthony told his reflection, hoping to snap out of his stupor. The man staring back at him was older now, he observed darkly: a little more grey mingling with his boyish blond wisps than he'd like; a layer of stomach fat that he couldn't seem to get rid of these days; but his eyes were still the same bright blue he had had since he was a boy, only today, he noted that they shone more brilliantly than he had ever known them to.

Finishing up his morning routine, Anthony felt as giddy as a schoolboy, certainly a far cry from the grumpy, old codger he had become. He paid special attention to his shave, careful to remove every rogue blond hair from his chin, and to his clothes, a crisp navy blazer over a white oxford, certainly dressier than his usual, ratty old fisherman sweaters. And although he fixed himself some breakfast, toast and oatmeal with cinnamon, he was far too excited for anything more than a few bites.

With just four hours remaining, Anthony could barely focus on work at all. He was supremely distracted during his morning lectures, and he eventually grew so upset with his own lack of attention that he dismissed class half an hour early. His students were quite keen with their professor's stark change in mood and attire, though none of them understood why. No one questioned it, though; getting out of class early was never something students would question.

Three hours, then two, then one. Anthony got no work done whatsoever. He simply stared at his computer screen with an article he had been working on about the state of post-modernism, but he didn't add a single word to it. Instead, he tossed a tennis ball around his office and tried to fix himself some tea and attempted to ignore the enormity of what was about to happen.

Eventually, around 11:45, an old friend and professor of history, Charlie Carson, popped by his office and invited him to lunch. Seven minutes. This was it: he was going to meet the great love of his life in the Pembroke College dining hall and with Charlie Carson by his side, no less.

Certainly not _quite_ how he imagined it. But then again, that it was happening at all was a miracle in itself.

The two men walked briskly through the cool, December air through Pembroke's many courtyards until they found their way into the dark and warm, mahogany-covered dining hall. It was crammed with students and faculty alike, all of them eager to devour their lunches and get a break from classes and revisions. There must have been no less than a hundred people tucked inside, Anthony realized. How on earth was he going to find her in this crowd? As he and Carson stood in line for fish and chips, Anthony looked down at his watch, which he had set to match the clock above his heart. Only two minutes.

He looked around the dining hall frantically, hoping for a preview, a revelation. His mother had told him when he was a boy that when her countdown expired in the middle of a crowded train station, she looked up and Anthony's father was standing there, his clock recently expired as well. No words were exchanged between them in that suspended moment. Nothing could explain what this was or why it felt right.

They just knew.

Apparently, that was how it was supposed to work. One's clock would expire at that precise moment when you meet the person you're destined for. Sometimes it's best to just leave it in fate's masterful hands. And so Anthony submitted himself to the cosmos, even if ever so briefly, and let fate take charge. Just as he fetched a plate of fried cod and chips from the line, Carson nudged him in the side with his elbow.

"Ah, Anthony, I'd like for you to meet Elsie's new graduate fellow. She's doing a post-doctoral study of the women's suffrage movement in the upper classes under the watchful eye of my wife," Carson explained as he moved aside to introduce his old colleague to his newest one. "This is Edith Crawley. Edith, this is my old friend, Anthony Strallan. He teaches literature here at Pembroke."

But Carson's words faded away as Anthony's eyes settled on Edith Crawley. She was young, he observed, not even in her thirties, with eyes as dark as the earth and wavy, unruly hair the color of peaches. There were a few freckles underneath her eyes and a quizzical smile on her pink lips. She was, in short, divine and he knew within a second of looking at her that she was the one he had waited forty-five long, lonely years to meet.

He just knew.

"Hello there, I'm Anthony Strallan," he told her, offering his hand to her in a dazed, besotted way. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Crawley."

"The pleasure is mine, Professor Strallan," Edith replied politely, taking his hand in hers for a brief moment before fetching a lunch tray. "So you're a colleague of Professor Carson's here at Pembroke?"

Anthony was befuddled. This exchange was nothing like what his parents had told him long ago, about what Maud had told him. They were supposed to know within an instant. He had, at least.

"I-I am," he stuttered, watching in confusion as Edith picked up a plate of fish and chips. Didn't her countdown just expire, as well? Wasn't how this was all supposed to play out?

"What kind of literature is it that you specialize in?" she asked. She was all politeness and little else. Certainly not how someone should behave had they just met the great love of their life.

The line advanced and they all fished out some coins to pay the cashier before taking a seat at the end of a long wooden table.

"Ah, post-modern fiction mostly," he told her, ignoring his meal. He didn't have much of an appetite right now. "But lately, I've started dabbling in poetry, too."

"Anthony here has the soul of a poet underneath all that stoicism, if you can believe it," Carson chirped as he munched away on his fried cod. "I have half a mind to commission a poem from him to give to my Elsie on my behalf!"

"She wouldn't believe for a second that it came from you, Charlie," Anthony joked half-heartedly. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Edith had suppressed a snort, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked away. "Besides, I just like reading it. I couldn't write the stuff if I tried."

Recovering with a deep breath and a steeling look, Edith interjected, "Perhaps you haven't had the proper lens. If you look at poetry with an academic lens, of course it would be hard to tap into the emotion that's needed to write it. You need to free yourself of everything if you're to write anything at all, poetry especially."

Despite the disappointment he felt for the apocalyptical letdown that this day had been, Anthony managed a weak smile. He both wanted this lunch to end quickly and for it to last forever and ever till death would they part.

"I meant to introduce to you to a graduate fellow and I may have found you a muse, Anthony!" Charles exclaimed, patting Edith on the back and feeling quite proud of himself for finding such a gem.

"And what a lovely muse she is," Anthony murmured sadly into his glass of water.

* * *

><p>Carson left lunch not long after, something about a pressing meeting with his wife that couldn't be avoided. Whatever that meant. This left Edith and Anthony alone together in the dining hall. It had cleared out significantly as students rushed to their afternoon classes or to the library to study for exams.<p>

"Oh, look, it's snowing!" Edith exclaimed as she popped a chip into her mouth. "I love the snow. There's something magical about it to me, even now, years after my childhood. There's nothing better than waking up in the morning and finding that it has snowed overnight…"

Anthony watched Edith as she peered outside Pembroke's massive latticed windows to gaze at the flurries, at the way she licked the corner of her mouth, how her dark eyes widened and sparkled. How would he ever recover from this?

"Say, do you have any classes or meetings this afternoon?" she asked, turning away from the windows and devoting all her attention to him. He was taken aback by her abruptness, as though the thought had just immediately occurred to her and she couldn't waste a second in divulging it.

"As a matter of fact, I'm done for the day," Anthony explained. "I mean, I have an article that's half-finished, but I doubt I'll muster the motivation to work on it this afternoon." That wasn't a lie; he'd never be able to focus on some lame article about post-modern fiction after all of this.

"Good. Because a friend of mine at Downing is putting on a poetry reading this afternoon and I think you should come. After all, poetry is an art meant to be lived, not dissected, don't you think?"

Anthony knew he should politely refuse. While charming and kind, Edith didn't seem to look at him in the same longing way he looked at her. She was just friendly and nothing more. It was painfully apparent that Edith Crawley was his soul mate, but he wasn't hers. Like a slap in the face, Anthony became quite aware that this is what others called unrequited love, a love that will never be returned.

He had heard stories of this, so he knew he shouldn't be surprised. But still, it was a harsh truth: Edith Crawley was perfect for him in every way, but he was not perfect for her. And there was nothing he could do about it.

But the thing about soul mates, about love and the heart and all other such matters, is that logic seldom pays a visit. So while Anthony fully recognized that he was not made for Edith in the way she was made for him, while his head wanted to spare him from further harm, his heart wanted to spend every moment with the young woman. He couldn't explain it and he didn't try.

"I should be delighted," he murmured, Edith's rosy blush and shy smile reward enough for the pain he would feel later on. "Lead the way, Ms. Crawley."

As Edith wrapped a thick, red wool scarf around her neck, she said, "Oh, please, call me Edith. If we're to be friends, we can't go by all of this 'Ms.' and 'Mr.' nonsense!"

Friends. That was unpleasant. "Well, then call me Anthony," he replied, shrugging his coat on and slipping on his mittens.

Through the falling snow, Edith and Anthony trudged along through the narrow Cambridge streets, until a short walk brought them to Downing College's back gates. As they walked, they talked, their conversation flowing effortlessly. They talked about the clocks above their hearts, though Anthony conveniently left out that his had expired upon meeting her in the line for fish and chips, about how Edith's had yet to countdown, how she was the last in her family with her clock still at the top of the hour.

As they walked among the open courtyard of Downing's lawn, surrounded by sandy-colored, neo-classical buildings, they talked of literature and of Edith's post-doctoral program, of their shared love of Cambridge and of Anthony's recent discovery of the great poets. It was all so easy, Anthony mused bitterly. He had never had conversations like this with Maud, or with anyone for that matter. And he had never been so smitten before, not with the snowflakes on her blonde eyelashes or her reddened cheeks from the cold.

And yet, as they brushed off the snow from their coats and took their seats in Downing's warm dining hall for the poetry reading, Anthony couldn't help to shake the devastating pain that would come from never loving Edith Crawley more than at a distance.

* * *

><p>That poetry reading on that snowy, blistery December afternoon was not the last Edith and Anthony shared. Over the next few months, as winter gave way to spring, the young woman dragged her besotted friend to all sorts of readings and exhibitions around Cambridge, at the various colleges and coffee shops around town. He put on a good face through it all, good sport, but it pained him nonetheless.<p>

Anthony surmised that Edith was completely unaware of the fate that had fallen upon him, of the fact that his clock had expired for her and her alone. But this, perhaps, was for the best. He never let on how instantly he had fallen for her, how he loved every ounce of her, from those messy strawberry curls to those snarky remarks that flew out of her mouth from time to time. He never told her about his clock, and he tried not to ask much of hers; he didn't think he could bear it if hers started to tick all of a sudden, that some other man would love his soul mate in ways he could not.

But despite all of the pain that he associated with knowing and loving Edith Crawley from a distance, he found that he simply could not stay away from her. Every poetry reading she invited him to, he hastily accepted without any thought of what it would to do his heart later; when it became apparent that they had similar class schedules, he gladly did away with his solitary dinners to take her out to Cambridge's many posh restaurants, or even the occasional meal at his flat.

They spent quite a lot of time together over those months, so much so that Anthony could barely remember what life was like before Edith Crawley waltzed into it, before his clock expired for her. His whole world revolved around her, as one would expect from soul mates, from having to know what she thought about different books he read or thoughts that came into his head, and missing her the moment they parted ways at night, to the constant ache of knowing that she would never truly be his.

And then one spring day, while Anthony and Edith were walking along the streets near Pembroke enjoying the warm sun on their backs and Chelsea buns from Fitzbillies sticking to their hands, Edith decided to tell her friend something rather important.

"So, my clock started yesterday, Anthony," she told him, discarding the rest of her Chelsea bun into a trash bin, watching his reaction. Although Anthony tried his best to keep his feelings guarded from Edith, she was quite aware of his longing glances, of his complete awkwardness around her, all nerves and stuttering, of the way she knew there was something big he was keeping from her. Sometimes, she found herself wishing that her clock had expired for him, but that was an impossible notion; they'd already met. "It'll expire today around 2:00…"

It was the moment Anthony had been expecting and dreading in equal measure. Edith's soul mate was out there; it wasn't a question of "if." And now, in a few short hours, they'd meet and he would be left alone yet again. His only consolation came in the form of knowing that she would be loved good and well by the man she was meant for, by the man meant for her.

He nodded morosely as he licked his sticky, honey-covered finger. "That's great, Edie," he murmured with little enthusiasm. "Well, I hope that after it's all said and done, we can still be friends."

They were just outside the gates to Pembroke College; the sun had ducked behind a cloud, hiding its warmth along with its brightness. Anthony noticed a chill run through Edith there in the shade so he pulled off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders.

Snuggled underneath it, pulling it tighter across her body, Edith smiled at him. "I hope we can be friends, too, Anthony. I don't want that to change at all. I've come to look forward to bumping into you, to our little coffee and dinner dates, much more than I probably ought to. I should hope those won't end because of what happens this afternoon…"

His blue eyes caught hers, shining down at them with sadness. "I would welcome any capacity you should want me to fill, Edith Crawley," he whispered. He broke his gaze from her then; it was too painful to look at her bundled up in his jacket, her brown eyes staring up at him so warmly.

Looking away in the distance, the spring breeze rolling through his blond curls, Anthony told her with a great finality, "I'll be in my office for the rest of the afternoon. Best of luck, Edie…"

Anthony was about to walk away, to retreat behind Pembroke's gates, but Edith grabbed his right arm, squeezing it tightly, urging him back to her. His eyes followed her hand, up her arm, and all the way up her neck until they settled on her eyes. She saw such resignation there. Reluctant hope, too.

Without thinking of much else, she stood on her tiptoes and placed her lips on Anthony's cheek. His skin was soft and he smelled of sandalwood. Part of her never quite wanted to come back down to earth, as though she would be content to spend the rest of her days pressing her lips to Anthony Strallan's fair skin.

But her clock was to expire in an hour and a half. Whatever she felt for Anthony wouldn't matter then, she thought. Edith pulled away, feeling her cheeks burn and seeing that Anthony's were flushed, as well. She let go of his arm, putting some distance between them, and flashed him a small smile.

"Well, I'm going to walk around till…then…and see where I end up. I'll see you later, Anthony," she murmured, waving meekly to him as she turned around and started her walk along Trumpington Street. She could have sworn that she heard a faint "goodbye" as she walked away, but she couldn't bring herself to turn around and see that sad look in his blue eyes again.

As Edith wandered around Cambridge, past King's and through the Market and into the Grand Arcade, she thought that she should be far more excited about today, about her clock's expiration, than she actually was. When she was young, she would check her chest every morning and every night to see if her clock had started ticking. Mary's expired three days after she was born at her christening, for that was when she and Cousin Matthew, a distant third-cousin of theirs and her future husband, first encountered one another. Sybil's had expired when she was eighteen during her gap year spent in Dublin when she met a handsome rugby player, Tom Branson, at a crowded pub. And here was Edith, twenty-seven years old, on the cusp of meeting her soul mate, and yet, Anthony Strallan invaded her thoughts with alarming insistence.

This wasn't how it was supposed to work. If Anthony were her soul mate, her clock should have expired all those months ago in December when they first met; his should have, too. But that didn't happen. Someone else was her soul mate and in a matter of minutes, she'd meet him.

Her meandering around Cambridge took her to Parker's Piece, the grass fresh from its winter nap, still bright green and new. Edith found a bench along the edge of the park, watching as the students tossed Frisbees around and read books on picnic blankets. This was the place. In less than half an hour, her soul mate would wander through the park and find her seated anxiously on this bench and that would be that.

As the mid-afternoon sun warmed her bones on this otherwise chilly day, Edith noticed that she was still wearing Anthony's jacket. She ran her hands along the sleeves, touching the fabric in places she knew he had once touched. Wrapping it tighter around her shoulders, she inhaled the sandalwood scent that clung to it, breathing it in as though it were oxygen itself. God, she would miss this smell…

Ten minutes.

Edith looked around at the park more thoroughly. It wasn't very crowded, maybe a few dozen students and some Cambridge-natives walking their dogs or pushing their babies in prams. This was an advantage, she surmised; fewer people to sift through when the time came.

She wondered what Anthony was doing right this minute. Probably staring at that still unfinished article in his office back at Pembroke. Were his fingers still as sticky from the Chelsea buns as hers were? Did he miss her as she missed him in this moment? She wanted him there to talk to about this monumental moment, about her fears and her excitements. He had become a confidant in the past months, and she considered him to be her very best friend. They got along so fabulously well, to the point that it almost scared her. Anthony seemed to understand her in the most fundamental ways, in ways that no one else seemed to. Their humor was shared, their interests, too, and she felt as though she could tell him just about anything.

Four minutes.

Edith looked around Parker's Piece, but didn't recognize a soul. Nor did she get that "feeling" about anyone that so many others had told her about. She should just know, and that would be that. But everyone in the park was wholly preoccupied in their tasks, be it tossing a Frisbee or flipping through the pages of a book. No one seemed to pay any mind to her at all.

Two minutes.

Her thoughts turned to Anthony again. She wondered what her friendship with Anthony would be like after this afternoon. Would they still go that curry place by the River Cam that they both loved? Would they still attend poetry readings and discuss it after at tearooms together? Could they still do that after she found her soul mate? Would they still be friends at all?

The thought that Anthony might not be a part of her life any longer, when he had become such an important person to her in these months, was one Edith didn't wish to entertain any longer.

One minute.

Her eyes now darted around the park looking for a glimpse of her someone, whoever he was. And as her dark eyes scanned Parker's Piece, looking here and there and all around herself, Edith realized that the person she was looking for…was Anthony.

She so desperately wanted him to be the one to meet her when her clock expired. She didn't want anyone else. Her heart belonged to him and none other, and perhaps, it had belonged to Anthony Strallan all along.

Zero.

Her clock expired and there was no one around her. All that surrounded her was Anthony's jacket and his sandalwood smell. She had to get to him.

Edith gathered her purse and Anthony's jacket into her hands and sprinted out of Parker's Piece, dodging oncoming traffic on Regent Street, and into Downing's courtyard, crossing it quickly as fellows and students watched her with curiosity. She took the back roads to Pembroke, a shortcut she had learned on her many walks with Anthony, until she reached the College's gate.

Anthony's office was tucked in a little stairwell just off of the chapel, offering grand views of Pembroke's main courtyard. He often told her that he preferred its location away from the other faculty offices. No one seemed to frequent the chapel much, and it gave him some peace and quiet to focus on those articles with which he always seemed to struggle.

In an ungraceful series of motions, Edith barrelled into his office, completely out of breath and red in the face. Anthony stood, his mouth agape, out of shock if nothing else. He certainly didn't expect Edith to be here…not now after she her clock had expired.

"Edith, what are you doing here?" he asked her, his eyes not leaving hers. "Shouldn't you be with—"

"Anthony," Edith cut him off sternly. Then, as she formed the words she was about to say to him, her voice softened. "It was you."

His brow furrowed as he processed Edith's words. "I beg your pardon? That's not possible. I was here all along."

She stepped closer to him, aching to touch him. "As my clock counted down, I thought of you, of us, of everything that we've done of these past few months, how much I enjoyed having you in my life. And then I thought of how I wanted you in my life always, and not just as my friend. I didn't want to lose you.

"When it expired, I realized that I found myself looking for…you. For those boyish blond curls and that crooked smile and those stupidly bright blue eyes. I wanted it to be you…I wanted it to be you so badly."

All air had left his body. This certainly couldn't be real; more likely, it was his final descent into madness.

"But Edith, I'd only be yours if we met when our clocks expired. I was nowhere near you when it did; you must have missed your true soul mate. I can't possibly be yours…"

She thought on this; it certainly was a kink. After all, in the many stories she had been told about the clocks above humans' hearts, she had never heard of anything like this. But perhaps there was one explanation…

"In that moment, just as it expired, I saw you in a different light, one I have ignored or not seen this entire time: I saw you as my soul mate, not as a colleague and not as my friend, all the things you have been to me until this point.

"It was as though I was seeing you for the very first time. It was like meeting you all over again…"

"My god…" Anthony murmured as he furiously brushed away hot tears forming in his eyes; he almost couldn't trust himself to believe the truth in her words.

The distance between them grew smaller; Edith was now just along his desk.

"But you see, there is still a problem," she told him with disappointment lacing her voice. "Your clock has not expired. It seems that…you and I…won't…" She couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. Her eyes fell to the floor, unable to look at Anthony any longer.

And then, she felt his finger at her chin, urging her back to him. His face held an expression she had never seen on Anthony's face before. The distant sadness that had lurked behind his blue eyes had vanished, that reluctance had disappeared. All that was left was love.

"Edith," Anthony whispered so softly it sent chills throughout her body. It was low and warm and purposeful. "My clock expired the day I met you, sweet one, at the precise moment I laid eyes on you."

"It did?" she murmured, wrapping her hands around his wrist underneath her chin.

He nodded, beaming at her, laughing at the absurdity and majesty of the universe, of life. "It did, Edie," Anthony exclaimed. "I have loved you all this time."

Edith bit her lower lip, holding back the tears that welled up inside of her. "I love you, too, Anthony."

And when all was said and done, Anthony Strallan kissed Edith Crawley squarely on her pink, pink lips. Her mouth was his home, her heart his sanctuary, and he was hers.

They just knew.


End file.
